


what we found

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: He hopes the little girl is all right. She'd been half dead when he pulled her out of those bushes, whimpering and crying dry tears – probably thinking he was a walker, about to tear her apart. When she'd recognized him, though – faintly and with unease – she'd clung to him with skinny arms and bony fingers, begging for her momma.Even now, he can't believe he actually found her.season two AU where daryl finds sophia alive





	what we found

**Author's Note:**

> This is not just different from canon in regards to Daryl finding Sophia alive, they also never ran into Randall's group.

_Carol!_

 

Her heart skips a beat at the shrill call of her name, and Carol almost drops the shirt she'd been mending onto the dusty ground, a few flakes of ash from the fire pit carried over by the balmy breeze. Whipping her head around, she spots Andrea crouched on top of the RV. A few other heads turn as well, curiosity sparked as much as caution.

 

_It's Daryl!_ Andrea shouts, hurrying to her feet. _He's got Sophia._

 

Her heart stops beating and for a few seconds she is frozen in place. The words echoing treacherously in her mind because they can't be true. Not now, not after so many days. But then her body awakens, melts in the late summer air and she tosses the shirt and needle to the ground, pushing herself onto her feet.

 

She's never run this fast in her life, tears prickling her eyes as she crosses the large field that surrounds Hershel's farm, seeing Daryl's silhouette, carrying her little girl in his arms.

 

Let her be fine, let her be alive. The words repeat in her mind like a mantra as she pushes forward, her legs and lungs aching from the exertion until she's right with them. Her little girl is limp in Daryl’s arms, pale, covered in dirt and dried blood and _please_ let her be alive.

 

She all but claws her baby from his arms, gathering her against her own body, her legs nearly faltering under the dead weight of her little girl but she holds on, clings to her like a lifeline because she never thought she'd get to hold Sophia again.

 

_She's all right._ Carol barely hears Daryl's quiet words of reassurance, smoothing her hand through her daughter's knotty hair. _Ain't bit._

 

Those words pull her out of her trance, and in that moment she registers her daughter's shallow breaths against her chest, the thrumming of her pulse. Tears spill over as she sobs, all the tension and fear she carried with her since the highway crumbling to dust.

 

Faintly, she can hear the others approaching them, half a dozen pairs of feet shuffling through the dry grass.

 

_Thank you,_ she gasps, falling forward and curling one arm around Daryl’s waist, holding on to him more than embracing him. Sophia is trapped between them and he's stiff for a moment before both his arms come up to curl around them. Steadying her. _Thank you,_ she sobs into his shoulder, her tears soaking into the threadbare fabric of his shirt. _Thank you._

 

* * *

 

_She's dehydrated,_ Hershel explains, resting his hand gently against Sophia's forehead. _Probably malnourished. There's a few bumps and bruises but nothing too serious. She'll be just fine,_ he reassures Carol with a kind smile, pushing himself up from the edge of the bed. _I'll go and get my supplies. We'll give her fluids and I'll clean her wounds. What she needs most, though, is rest._

 

Carol nods, edging a little closer to Sophia, the mattress dipping under her weight. Hershel excuses himself from the room then, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Carol cups her daughter’s cheek in her palm. She feels warm to the touch, a scrape on her temple having formed a scab, and there are bruises along her jaw and blood clotting in her hair.

 

_Oh, sweetheart,_ she breathes, leaning down to press her lips feather-lightly to Sophia's forehead. She hasn't been awake since she tore her from Daryl’s arms, but he'd reassured her she was conscious when he found her. Curled up in some bushes by the creek, miles and miles away from where Rick left her behind.

 

Curling her fingers around Sophia's, Carol tries to hold back her tears, overwhelmed by worry and gratitude. _Mommy's here now,_ she whispers, tucking a few strands of dark blonde hair from her daughter's face. _Mommy's here._

 

 

 

When Hershel returns with Patricia to tend to Sophia's wounds, Carol retreats to make room for them. Sitting in a chair by the foot of the bed, she watches with an aching heart as they meticulously clean every scratch and cut.

 

_I'll give her antibiotics to make sure there's no infection,_ Hershel explains after a while, and all Carol can do is nod.

 

* * *

 

_Mommy?_

 

Carol stirs from her light and uneasy sleep, eyes opening and adjusting to the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. She sits up enough to turn and look down at Sophia, blinking and squirming against the mattress.

 

_It's all right, sweetheart,_ Carol breathes, cupping Sophia's cheek in her palm and smoothing her thumb across the warm skin. _You're safe._

 

Her little girl's eyes finally open, her chest heaving with every breath she takes. For a moment, she looks disoriented, confused. Almost terrified. But then her eyes lock with Carol's, and she relaxes against the clean, soft pillows.

 

_Mommy,_ she whimpers, one small had reaching out to grasp for her and Carol chokes out her daughter's name, gathers her in her arms, mindful of the IV.

 

_Oh, Sophia._ Her voice and tears are muffled as she cradles her little girl against her chest, warm and thin and alive. So very much alive. Eventually, they both sink back down, burrowing into the bed, fingers entwined.

 

_Mr. Dixon,_ Sophia says hoarsely, cheek shimmering with tear trails that Carol brushes away. _He found me._

 

Her heart swells in her chest, and she nods slowly. _Yes. He found you._

 

* * *

 

He's not with the others where they're having breakfast around the fire. He's not in his tent, either and Carol's heart beats a stuttering rhythm. Nobody can tell her where he is, not even after she's asked and asked again.

 

They're all happy for her, offering her kind smiles. Even Shane seems a little less tense today, but it's not them she came out here for.

 

_Think I saw him heading that way,_ Glenn eventually says, offering her the first clue when he points towards the direction of the lake. The lake Daryl had taken her to just two days before. _I'm glad Sophia is okay,_ Glenn adds, smiling brightly and Carol nods before excusing herself.

 

It's foolish to head out on her own – she doesn't even have a knife strapped to her belt like some of the others do. Every crack of the undergrowth beneath her feet makes her jump. But she keeps on walking, driven by determination.

 

 

 

The water is cool around his bare feet, soaking into the fabric of his pants where he bunched them up over his ankles. His palms press into the weathered planks, supporting his weight. It's quiet out here, serene. The morning sun sparkles on the calm surface of the lake, reflecting off the creamy white blossoms of the roses growing all around it.

 

He hopes the little girl is all right. She'd been half dead when he pulled her out of those bushes, whimpering and crying dry tears – probably thinking he was a walker, about to tear her apart. When she'd recognized him, though – faintly and with unease – she'd clung to him with skinny arms and bony fingers, begging for her momma.

 

Even now, he can't believe he actually found her. It doesn't matter what he told Carol, how he'd lashed out at her when she admitted she wasn't sure they'd ever find her little girl. He'd been angry at her for giving up hope, but he felt the same doubt creeping into his bones. But then, there she was. Just waiting to fall asleep and never wake up, to be found. Dead or alive or as something else, something thirsty for blood.

 

His stomach growls and he regrets not having brought any food with him out here. But he hadn't been eager to sit down and eat with the others. Now that he found the little girl, his purpose has been fulfilled. Over these last few days, he was useful to them. But what is he to them now?

 

The sound of twigs breaking and a body moving in the woods behind him alerts him before he can continue to dwell on the matter, and his hand reaches out for the crossbow he'd placed next to him within a heartbeat. He never picks it up,though. Turning around, he watches as Carol makes her way through the line of trees, breathing heavily and swatting away a few bugs.

 

When she spots him, she slows down for a moment. Then, silently, she walks over to him, sinks by his side. Her boots hovers a hand's width above the water, and when supports herself on her hands, her fingers are just an inch away from his own.

 

_Shouldn't be out here on ya own,_ he says, staring down at their hands. His own calloused ones and hers, delicate and pale. It's dangerous here and she's unarmed, but he doesn't push the matter any further after she hums in affirmation.

 

_Why aren't you with the others?_ she asks, looking at him with those haunting, blue eyes.

 

He just shrugs, doesn't feel like explaining. _How's ya little girl?_ he asks instead, and he doesn't miss the way her face falls a little when he dismisses her question.

 

_She's fine,_ Carol says, unable to hide a hint of a smile. _She had a big breakfast and now she's asleep. She's so tired,_ she sighs, and even though most of the sadness that clung to her these last few days is gone, there's a hint of it that remains.

 

Daryl nods, moving his feet back and forth in the water until the surface begins to ripple. _She's tough. Made it out there on her own._ After that, they fall into a heavy silence, filled only by the sound of leafs rustling in the wind and a bird chirping every now and then. He wonders what she came here for, why she went looking for him. Whether it was out of a sense of debt or because she wanted to thank him again – there's no need for that.

 

She surprises him, then.

 

_Come back with me?_ she asks, all hopeful and her smile shy and light, and damn it how can he say no to that?

 

* * *

 

He goes hunting that day, not keen on sitting around camp with the others. Biding time.

 

Looking for Sophia gave him a purpose, now he's just one of them. Waiting for time to pass without a real task. Waiting for something to happen. For a turn, for the next moment of terror. Just waiting.

 

* * *

 

_Do you think he'll like it?_ Sophia asks, setting down the red crayon and lifting the piece of paper up high against the sunlight. There's a rainbow on the picture, a bright, beaming sun. A man in a sleeveless shirt with a messily drawn crossbow in his hand, then there's a little girl with the world's widest smile, a field of flowers and a dog that Carol can't explain. The words _thank you_ are written in the bottom corner in bright pink.

 

_I'm sure he will,_ she reassures her daughter, kissing the crown of her head. Crayons are scattered all over the camping table next to an empty plate, only crumbs remaining of the sandwich Sophia had eagerly gulped down. She's been hungry and thirsty all day, asleep most of the time but now as the sun is beginning to set, she'd been eager to get out of bed. Sitting on the front porch with a dozen crayons around her, she already looks much healthier than she did yesterday.

 

_I don't think he likes drawings very much,_ Sophia mutters, looking a little defeated and almost embarrassed by her idea to draw something for Daryl. Carol bites back a gentle smile and curls an arm around Sophia, cradling her head against her side.

 

_I'm sure he'll like this one._

 

 

 

_Mr. Dixon?_ Sophia's voice is small and fragile and she's still unsteady on her feet. Carol has a steadying hand curled around her daughter's as they stand in front of Daryl’s tent. There's a shuffling inside before the flap is pushed open.

 

Sophia tenses instantly and Carol soothes her thumb over the back of her hand, encouraging her. Daryl is kneeling on the ground inside the tent, looking more than a little surprised to see them both standing there. _Feelin' better, kid?_ he asks, looking about as nervous as Sophia and Carol feels her lips curling into a smile.

 

_Yes, sir,_ Sophia replies stiffly, clinging to Carol's hand.

 

_Can call me Daryl, ya know?_ Daryl offers.

 

Sophia nervously nudges the dusty ground with her foot, her cheeks tinted red. _Yes, Mr. Daryl._ Carol stifles a delicate laugh when a look of confusion washes over Daryl's face before he surrenders. _I made this for you,_ Sophia says then, the words tumbling from her mouth as she shoves the drawing at Daryl. _For finding me._

 

Taken by surprise, Daryl nearly drops the drawing before smoothing it out and holding it up. Sophia watches him almost frightfully, waiting for a response or a reaction. Carol does the same, not sure what to expect. Sophia was probably right in her assumption that Daryl doesn't have the greatest appreciation for drawings, but she trusts him enough not to trample on her daughter’s meager confidence.

 

He surprises them both when his lips turn into a grin unlike anything Carol has seen on him before.

 

_That's a hell of a drawin', kid,_ he says, pointing at the paper. _I even got a dog._

 

Instantly, Sophia eases by Carol's side, and then her hand slips free and she kneels down next to Daryl. _His name is Pookie, look,_ she explains, pointing at the small collar she drew. Daryl leans in closer, nodding. _And that's me,_ she explains, even though that must have been fairly obvious. _Do you like dogs?_ she asks with a hopeful edge to her voice, and Carol suddenly feels like a third wheel, standing by the side of the tent.

 

_Gotta love 'em, right?_ Daryl replies, offering Sophia another smile and her little girl looks delighted, clapping her hands. Daryl looks up then, the smile still lightening up his face, meeting Carol's gaze.

 

_Thank you,_ she mouths silently, her heart swelling in her chest.

 

* * *

 

_He's not throwing us out, Daryl,_ Carol tries to reassure him. She'd mentioned that Hershel told her earlier that Sophia is well enough to not be under his care anymore – a veiled way of asking her to move back into one of the tents as soon as possible. It didn't come unexpected, but Daryl clearly doesn't take the news well. _Sophia is doing much better, she'll be fine out here._ Glancing over to the porch, Carol watches with a smile as Carl and Sophia play an animated game of cards, both of them smiling happily.

 

The lightness is an illusion, though. At night, Sophia is haunted by her ordeal in the woods, tossing and turning and waking up with teas in her eyes. But already, she's improving. Perhaps this is one advantage she took from growing up with Ed as her father. She's more resilient than she seems.

 

_'s gonna get cold soon, Daryl_ says with a hint of anger in his voice, sharpening a bolt. _The kid oughta be in that damn house. Not out here. Ain't safe._

 

His concern warms Carol's heart. For all the roughness of his exterior, he's so kind and soft beneath and she feels grateful that he's allowing her a glimpse at that. _We'll be fine, Daryl,_ she says softly, but she can't deny that she'd rather stay in the house, too. Where walls and locks are keeping her little girl safe and a bed and fireplace to keep her warm in the coming months.

 

They are quiet for a moment, Carol cutting up the carrots in front of her and Daryl sharpening his bolts. Lori walks past them a moment later, seeming tense and distracted. There's no sign of Rick, but Carol assumes he might be talking to Hershel.

 

Most of the others are going about their day without paying either of them much notice. Keeping watch, maintaining the camp. Shane has taken a few of the others away for gun training, so the place is quiet and almost peaceful.

 

Daryl, however, isn't done with their conversation. _Can move ya tent next ta mine,_ he suggests quietly, muttering to the ground rather than her. _If ya wanna. Can keep an eye out for ya. Both of ya._

 

Her hands hover awkwardly over the cutting board, eyes fixed on Daryl’s profile and her heart leaps a little when he blushes. _Daryl-_ she breathes, but he interrupts her before she can say anything else.

 

_Y'ain't gotta._ He sounds a little gruff, almost like he's dismissing his own idea and that's the last thing she wants.

 

_I do,_ she says, earning herself a surprised look. _We will._ Daryl stares at her for a moment in disbelief before quickly looking away when she smiles at him _. I never really thanked you for- for everything,_ Carol murmurs, keeping her voice down when Dale walks past, greeting them with a smile. _And don't say I don't have to because I do._

 

She can see the corners of Daryl’s mouth twitching, telling her she was right in her assumption that he'd try to stop her. _Thank you._ The words are barely more than a whisper and she fights the sting of tears in her eyes, her heart stuttering when she sets the knife down. Slowly, she reaches out to him, curls her hand around his exposed forearm. He flinches for a moment, head jerking down before he relaxes a little into her touch. _I'm glad you're here._

 

She knows he struggles with his place here, even though he has more than earned it. Even if he hadn't found Sophia, he'd still belong here with them. He's having a hard time seeing that, but maybe, just maybe, she can help him along.

 

* * *

 

The kid is like a damn puppy, following him around wherever he goes.

 

It's been a week since Carol and Sophia left the big house, since they set up their tent next to his. It's been a quiet week without any incidents and he's grateful for that. At night, he lays awake for hours, listening to the rustling of leafs and the slow footsteps of someone coming back from their watch shift.

 

Sometimes, he can hear muffled sobs in their tent. It makes sense that the kid would have nightmares. After he was lost in the woods as a kid, he had them, too. Had them before that, but they only got worse after.

 

During the day, Sophia doesn't show the demons that haunt her at night. As fragile and young as she looks, she seems to be as tough as her momma. She's eager to learn, too, and that means she won't ever leave him alone.

 

Is asking him to show her how to use a knife and how to make a fire, asking him question after question about what berries to eat and which to avoid. One day, when he comes back from a hunt, she asks to watch him skin the squirrels but he ushers her away. There's things she doesn’t need to see right now, not so soon after her ordeal.

 

Technically, she could ask someone else to show and teach her the same stuff – he sure as hell wouldn't mind some peace and quiet. Especially now that Rick keeps asking him for his damn opinion on things like he somehow values them. Maybe he does, it just feels unfamiliar and new.

 

But Sophia avoids Rick, is uneasy about him and he can't blame her. He doesn't want her anywhere near Shane, either and he doesn't trust any of the others to actually teach her well. So, he doesn't push her away, lets her follow him around as long as he knows Carol knows where her little girl is.

 

She never minds, just sends them off with a smile. But he can see the weariness in her eyes, the way her body pulls towards her daughter. It's physically painful for her to let her stray and so he does his best to always stay in the camp, or at least on the farm grounds to make it easier for Carol.

 

_Can I try shooting the bow, Mr. Daryl?_ Sophia asks one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the ground with a mug of tea in her hand as Daryl cleans the bow. He snorts, shakes his head.

 

_'s too big for ya, kid._

 

She looks disappointed, giving him one hell of a pout but there's nothing he can really do about it. She is too damn tiny, probably couldn’t even lift the thing. _Maybe we'll find ya a smaller one one day,_ he says, making a vague promise and her face lights up like fireworks.

 

_And I guess nobody is asking me for permission, right?_ He startles a little at the sound of Carol's voice, turning to see her walking towards them with a bowl of fruit in her hands.

 

_Was gonna ask,_ he mutters, suddenly feeling like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar but Carol just gives him that damn, knowing smile.

 

_Sure, Pookie._ He rolls his eyes at the damn name, but gladly takes one of the apples she's offering him.

 

_Can I have a crossbow of my own, mommy?_ Sophia asks, chewing on a piece of apple, her eyes wide with excitement.

 

Sighing, Carol sits down next to her stubborn daughter. _Thanks,_ she mouths, directed at him, and Daryl can't bite back the small smirk that tickles his lips.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Hershel asks them all to move into the house. According to Rick, he'd been intent for all of them to leave his farm eventually. But the past few weeks and especially Lori's pregnancy had changed his mind.

 

With the days and nights growing colder, Daryl is glad that Carol and Sophia get a chance to sleep within the shelter of the old house. It'll be crowded and suffocating in there all winter long but he isn't keen on sleeping in a tent in the damn frost, either.

 

He's been busy nailing boards to the windows for the past few hours, and so he is one of the last to carry his meager belongings into the house. When he steps inside, he's not surprised to find the living room covered in bedroll after bedroll like a damn sardine tin. He can't, however, spot Carol or Sophia anywhere, assuming they were given one of the upstairs bedrooms.

 

Already feeling like he's stuck in a cage, he moves to the far corner where T is rolling out his bedroll, when the sound of his name stops him in his tracks.

 

_Daryl!_ Carol calls, her head peaking out from a the door frame to the smaller room next to the living room. _There's room over here._ She looks like she has been waiting for him to show up, and when he makes his way over there and finds an empty spot next to her and Sophia's makeshift beds, he guesses he was right.

 

It's a lot to take in, the offer she's making. Andrea is sleeping in the other corner of the room, the old chaise lounge separating the room somewhat, but she's busy tugging a blanket from her pack and pays them no attention.

 

_Ya sure?_ he asks quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Carol nods, looking a little shy.

 

_If you want._

 

Hell. He wants to laugh at how ridiculous the idea is that he _doesn't_ want to.

 

* * *

 

He rolled over in his sleep and now she can feel his warm breath against the back of her neck and this isn't at all how she imagined this would go.

 

Well, maybe she thought about it once. Or twice. But this isn't exactly the kind of thought that she can allow to blossom - especially not considering they share this room with two other people, including her daughter.

 

Her daughter who is asleep, curled into a little ball just a few feet away from her. It's been a while since she last woke from a nightmare, and Carol hopes they will continue to be a rarity in the future.

 

Now, though, she can only focus on the dampness against her neck and the knowledge that Daryl is close enough for her to feel this at all. The more she focuses on the soothing rhythm of his breath, the sleepier she becomes, eventually drifting off to sleep herself.

 

 

 

When she wakes in the morning, she is turned onto her other side, Daryl’s face no more than a few inches away from her own and his hand somehow clasped around her own. Calloused and warm and squeezing when she stirs – until his own eyes shoot open and he jerks away with a confused _sorry_.

 

It doesn't help that Sophia woke five minutes before them, their little moment not going unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

It's gotten much colder over night, and he can feel it creeping into his bones as he sits on the porch step. One of his last cigarettes glimmers between his fingers, the smoke filling his lungs and the crisp afternoon air.

 

The door opens behind him, floorboards creaking lightly and he's not surprised that it's Sophia who is sitting down next to him, wrapped in a light coat.

 

With a sigh, he tosses the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it into the earth with the sole of his boot.

 

_What'ya want, kid?_ he asks, staring ahead at the vast fields.

 

_Do you like my mommy?_

 

He knows she saw what happened this morning, so he isn't surprised that she has questions. She's a kid, after all. And damn it if he knows what the hell happened in the first place. All he knows is that when he woke up, Carol's face was _right there_ , every freckle in plain sight, and her delicate fingers entwined with his.

 

_Course I do,_ he replies, drumming his fingers against the porch step on either side of him.

 

Sophia worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, looking nervous to bring this up. _Do you like her like- Are you together?_

 

_Nah, kid,_ he replies. _Ain't that easy._

 

Sophia looks confused, her forehead in creases. _But you said you like her, and I know she_ really _likes you._

 

Those words make his heart skip a beat, but he doesn't hold on to them. She's just a kid after all. _That ain't all it takes,_ he explains, not that he's an expert on this. He's never liked anyone the way Sophia is clearly implying.

 

Nobody except-

 

_Oh,_ Sophia sighs, sounding disappointed. He wishes he could comfort her somehow, but there's very little he can offer.

 

* * *

 

She almost expects him to move his bedroll away from hers when they go to sleep that night, but he does not. Looks sheepish when she smiles at him and turns his back to her when they turn off the light.

 

It doesn't happen again. His hand doesn't come close enough to her own for even the feather-lightest touch, and she can only hear his even breath instead of feeling it on her skin.

 

The fact that she mourns the loss of both is a little overwhelming.

 

* * *

 

Maybe she should bring it up. Tell him she didn't mind. Maybe she should just reach for his hand herself to let him know it was okay.

 

But finding the courage for that is a challenge, and there's the fear of rejection that simmers in her veins. Ed's words echoing like a ghost's wail. That's she's ugly, plain, boring, useless.

 

It had probably been an accident, anyway. Unintentional at best and unwanted at worst.

 

One way or the other, even a week later she can still feel the warmth of Daryl’s palm against her own.

 

Skin tingling. Heart beating a little faster.

 

* * *

 

Shane leaves the week before Christmas, just disappears into the night without a word, all his things gone in the morning.

 

He'd kept mostly to himself these past few weeks, so it's hard to notice his absence now.

 

Daryl hadn't trusted him one bit, and he's grateful not to have to sleep under the same roof as him anymore.

 

 

 

The next day, he's standing on the porch just after the sun went down, the sky a blend of blue and orange. The air is calm and cold, his breath turning into mist in front of his mouth.

 

He recognizes the light footsteps on the porch behind him, greeting Carol with a thin-lipped smile when she walks up next to him.

 

_Where do you think he went?_ she asks, fingers tracing the chipped paint on the bannister. So close to where he has his own hands curled around the worn wood.

 

_Ain't got a clue,_ he admits, not really caring, either.

 

They are silent after that, just watching the sky darken and the first stars appear. His eyes eventually flicker down to Carol's hand, her fingers inching closer and closer to his and somehow, he doesn't feel as afraid as he thought he would.

 

She looks at him with a silent question, seemingly finding the answer in his eyes because a second later her hand rests on top of his, fingers slipping in between his own.

 

This time, he doesn't pull away.

 

Instead, he wraps an arm around her waist when she leans into his side, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Breath warm and sweet. His thumb brushes back and forth against her hip, and when Carol looks up at him with hazy, blue eyes, the courage to learn down and press his lips to hers comes easily.

 

Her lips are sweet and slow, warm and soft and the gentle hum she makes when he lightly pulls her against him makes him shudder.

 

 

 

When they go to sleep that night, his hand seeks out hers without hesitation and in the dim, silver light of the moon that filters through the shutters, he can see her smile.

 

* * *

 

The winter is harsh and unforgiving but they have enough food, water and firewood to keep everybody fed and warm.

 

For a few months, they rarely see a walker, even on the occasional supply run they are forced to make. It's almost eery - empty towns without the moans of the dead filling the air.

 

Even though they ration food like they're in prison and he has to sleep on a bunch of blankets on the hardwood floor, Daryl has never been happier. Never in his life.

 

At night, Carol sleeps tucked into his side - except for those nights her little girl wakes with a gasp or muffled scream. But those nights are rare.

 

He gets to hold Carol's hand whenever he wants. Kiss her when he wants. But with so many people living in such close quarters, there's rarely a moment of privacy and while he's aware they all _know_ by now, he doesn't feel comfortable showcasing it to everyone.

 

Some days, though, he curls his hand around hers under the table. Kisses her cheek before going on a run. Wraps his arms around her waist from behind and rests his chin on her shoulder when she works in the kitchen.

 

Nothing beats it when she's the one to seek him out, though. When she presses her lips to his throat in the dead of night, stoking flames they both have to keep at bay. When she smiles at him and leans on him as they sit and watch Sophia and Carl play or do their studies.

 

Sophia is more than happy with the new development. She even finally dropped the ridiculous _Mister_ and now just calls him Daryl. The trauma of her ordeal in the woods still clings to her like a shadow, but she's doing a better job at moving on than he ever did.

 

_I'm so glad she's here,_ Carol whispers one day as they sit in front of the fireplace, Sophia and Carl engaged in an increasingly tense game of Monopoly with Glenn and T-Dog.

 

Daryl has his arm thrown over the back of the couch where they sit in an almost casual manner, his fingertips hovering over the back of her neck every now and then. _Me, too,_ he murmurs, watching the tears that shimmer in Carol's eyes.

 

_She's here because of you._ Her hand reaches out for his cheek then, and despite the fact that they're not alone, he allows himself to lean into the touch.

 

_She's strong,_ he says, pressing a tender kiss to Carol's palm. _Just like her momma._

 

* * *

 

It's one of the first proper days of spring when Daryl asks her to come along to check the fences on the east side.

 

Usually, he's making sure she stays safe and sound, and so she's curious when she trails after him down the porch steps, the first warm rays of sunlight kissing her skin and the smell of spring and bloom in the air.

 

When he curls his hand around hers and leads her to the barn instead of the fences, she can barely bite back a wide smile. He looks at her over his shoulder, bashful and shy, but she doesn't give him a chance to doubt himself.

 

Instead, she tugs at his arm and presses her lips to his, the kiss deep and languid in a way they rarely had the chance before. When he pushes her up against the side of the barn with a grunt that he muffles against her throat, Carol can't help but laugh a little, feeling light and boneless until he sucks at the delicate skin behind her ear. After that, she is barely coherent enough to make any sound at all.

 

He makes love to her in the hayloft, covering her body with his, trembling and shuddering as he explores her and she does the same to him. Whimpering her name when she takes him inside for the first time, when she curls her legs around him and keeps them connected, breathing his name into the shell of his ear until he finally moves.

 

His hands roam her body without much aim but with more than enough enthusiasm to make up for it, and her back arches off the blanket he'd stashed away for them when she falls apart, the sound of his name muffled by his eager lips and then he joins her, too. Pushes into her hard for a few breathtaking thrusts before he lets go inside of her, his hands clutching her body to him as close as possible.

 

After, she curls into his side, kisses his bare chest and trails her fingers over his heart. There are three words lingering on the tip of her tongue but she holds them back for now - doesn't want to curse their good fortune.

 

She can see them reflected in his eyes, feel them in the way he tucks his fingers under her chin and rasps _come 'ere_ until his lips meet hers again and time passes in a honey-sweet blur.

 

* * *

 

Spring blossoms in the world outside, the weeks passing by and more and more work piling up. It gives everyone something to do again after the dreadful winter, and the relief is palpable in the air.

 

Carol tends to Lori most days, keeping her comfortable as the birth approaches, and Daryl has taken up hunting again, losing himself in the freedom of the woods.

 

He starts raining her and Sophia more and more on how to defend themselves, making a better teacher than anyone - especially he himself - would have expected.

 

Nobody knows if the farm will be their permanent shelter or if this world will drive them somewhere else eventually. But for now, everybody is content to cherish what they have.

 

* * *

 

_Where are we going?_ Sophia asks, tying up her boots. Carl lingers a few feet behind her, watching them curiously. The sound of his little sister crying upstairs fills the otherwise silent house.

 

Daryl just grins, slipping the crossbow over his shoulder. _You're going on your first run,_ he announces, watching Sophia s eyes light up. She'd been eager to get out of the house for a while, especially after Carl was allowed to join his father on the last supply run.

 

_Really?_ she asks, her eyes searching for her mother. Carol looks uneasy, but she'd given her okay. With the world he way it is, sheltering the children will only make them more vulnerable. With a nod, she confirms Daryl’s words, and then Sophia is marching forward, nearly tackling Daryl to the ground. _Where are we going?_

 

Daryl laughs softly, loosely wrapping an arm around the little girl. His eyes find Carol's, and she smiles softly at the sight of them. She looks happy. Content.

 

_Promised ya a crossbow, didn't I?_

 

Sophia's gasp makes him chuckle, and her wide eyes are priceless. _Are you serious?_

 

He nods, ruffling her hair.

 

_Very serious, kid._

 

 

 

Later that night, when Sophia is exhausted and asleep with her brand new crossbow stashed safely away, Carol curls into Daryl’s side, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

_She asked me something today,_ he whispers, sifting his fingers through Carol's hair and she hums softly. _Asked me if I love ya._

 

He can feel Carol's lips curling into a smile against the side of his neck. _And do you?_ she asks, propping her chin against his chest and looking at him with the most tender smile.

 

_Course I do,_ he replies hoarsely, thumb tracing the seam of her lips. She only smiles wider.

 

_Good,_ she breathes, leaning closer until he can taste the minty toothpaste on her breath. _Because I love you, too._

 

_I know,_ he says a second before her lips press against his. _Sophia told me._ He swallows her light laughter with a slow, lazy kiss, knowing that everything they suffered through since the world ended was worth this moment.


End file.
